Pump this Mother Fucker

This weekend I was driving back from MD, and I stopped off at the gas station to fill my tank up since I was half way between a quarter tank and empty. This means I should have had at least 2-3 gallons left in my tank**IMPORTANT**. I inserted my credit card and begin to pump away. The pump was slow as fuck, and my fingers were freezing since this area knows not of the seasons spring nor summer. Slowly, I watch the pump as it nears the number 11, 12, and 13 on the gallon reading. I know the pump is going to stop soon since my tank only holds 15 gallons and I can get back into my SUV and start to get warm. Well the gallons keep climbing 14, 15, and 16. I almost hit 17 when I stopped the pump.

I looked under my SUV to see if gas was pouring out. I thought it was physically impossible to put 16+ gallons of gas into a 15 gallon tank. I mean there is no mathematical way possible, right? So I went into the station to talk to the lady behind the counter-bad, bad move. She was a very cranky lady, I guess because she was working at a gas station and they didn't offer her a good dental plan. She told me she didn't work on the pumps. I said I didn't say she did and wanted the name of her manager.

Once I said those key words she got a look in her eyes that could kill. She asked me which name I wanted. I said her manager and she said, with attitude, "WHICH ONE!" I said I don't care as long as they could answer questions about the pumps. So she said I would talk to @(#^!*$&#. I said "Huh? So she spelt it out- "az" and I said yes and she said "az" and I said yes so she said we call him A-Z. I responded, his name is "A", "Z" and she said yes and then in the same breath, but good luck reaching him he is never here. I then replied, then why did you give me his name. She said because you said you didn't care who I gave you.

I replied "good night" and walked away. I figured it was not worth it to follow up with any more of a discussion with the clerk. I just got the fuel enforcement number off of the pump and went on my way. I called the number the next day and talked to the weights and measures department and they are sending out a field agent to inspect the gas station.

I hope they lock up the entire lot of them and throw away the key. But I am sure the local prison will be better a living condition than what some of them are used to. Mother Fuckers try to rip me out of $2.40. They will think twice next time.

Peace,
DeMo